


The Asshole Diaries

by DataNianGu



Category: Psych
Genre: M/M, as usual, both of them are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DataNianGu/pseuds/DataNianGu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know Shawn and Lassiter are assholes.<br/>Let's explore their asshole-ness together!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherouts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherouts/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I saw you trying to hit the 'door close' button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we're stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don't know what to say other than 'You started it'”

“Wait! Stop!”

Shawn's voice echoes through the hall and reaches Lassiter, who just stepped into the elevator. Lassiter turns, sees Shawn sprinting to reach the lift, and does what any sane man would do: smashing the 'close door' button before he has to be stuck in this contraption with Spencer of all people.

Sadly, he reacts too late. Shawn slides in just in time. He turns and scoffs at Lassiter. “Ha! You thought you could go on up without me. Me! Who moves at the speed of thunder!”

“It's 'speed of lightning', Spencer. Also, where is your ever-present slave of a partner, Guster?”

Shawn shrugs, staring intently at the floor buttons. “I've heard it both ways. And Gus is busy, apparently, some kind of boring pharmaceutical nonsense.”  With that he lunges at the board and presses every button in sight.

“Spencer, wha-”

“Ha-HA!”

Lassiter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Spencer, what the hell.”

“This is my revenge for trying to close the door on me. Now you're going to be late.”

“As will you.”, Lassiter points out. Shawn waves it away with a grin.

“Yeah, but I'm late a lot, so it doesn't really matter. What matters is that _you_ are going to be late, and _I'm_ going to gloat about it.”, he grins. The other man just crosses his arms and stares at him, a disapproving scowl on his face. 

And he continues to stare for the entirety of the elevator ride up to the 24 th floor, with a stop at every other floor. He stares with such intensity that even Shawn starts to feel uncomfortable after the first  eight floors. “Hey, you started it, Lassie! Don't look at me like that.”

Lassiter just raises an eyebrow and carries on staring.

Five floors later Shawn cracks. “Fine, it was stupid and childish, and I'm sorry. Happy now?”

Lassiter uncrosses his arms and stops staring, instead dangling his hand just shy of brushing Shawn's.

This is suspicious behaviour. Shawn squints first at the hand, then at Lassiter, who is studiously looking away but also smiling a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile, then back at the hand. He glances at the display, which tells him they're currently on floor 14.  _Ten floors to go,_ he thinks, and slips his hand into Lassiter's.

When he peeks at his boyfriend's face, he is smiling wider. Shawn is definitely okay with this.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm a bartender and you just came in here without shoes, sat down and ordered a Chocolate Volcano and I don't know what the fuck that is and I'm scared to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you know how I said "more or less short"? Yeah. This one's less short.  
> It just kinda got away from me.
> 
> Also, the Chocolate Volcano is an actual cocktail that sounds amazing and gross at the same time. I need to try it.

It's a quiet evening. Carlton likes the quiet evenings, because he doesn't have to pretend to be good at small-talking with his customers. He just gets them their liquor and they give him his money, and nothing more is expected of him.

The little bell at the door rings as a young man enters. He is dressed for a Friday night, although it's the middle of the week, and he looks like he 's also drunk enough for a Friday night. Or three Friday nights, for that matter.

Probably the most remarkable thing about him, besides his amazing hair, is the fact that he isn't wearing shoes. 

Looks like Carlton's quiet evening just became a little louder.

The sock-footed customer staggers towards the bar, slumps down on the stool directly in front of Carlton and slurs out: “One …  Chocolate  Volcano.” As if an afterthought, he adds a “Please.”

“Riiiiight. Okay. I can do that.”, Carlton says, before turning away from the guy, who is now resting his head on the bar, and mouthing “What the fuck is a Chocolate Volcano?” to his co-worker Toni. She shakes her head and mouths back “How the hell should I know, boss?”

Carlton shrugs and walks over to the liquor shelf, taking his cocktail shaker with him. Carefully pondering what would be most fitting for a drink that deserves being called a Chocolate Volcano, he picks up the bottle of chocolate liqueur sitting at the back. Suddenly Toni shoves her phone in his face. “Here, boss, I found a recipe online. We should have whipped cream somewhere in the back, I'll go look for it.”

“Thanks.” Carlton looks over his shoulder at the customer, who now busies himself by trying to catch peanuts out of the air with his mouth, which he fails miserably at.

He shakes his head and studies the recipe closer. Vanilla vodka, chocolate liqueur, chocolate syrup … chocolate ice cream? Where should he magic that up from?

“Toni? Do we, by any chance, also have ice cream in the back? Preferably chocolate flavoured one?”

“I'll see what I can find.”

He puts vodka, syrup and liqueur into the blender on the counter, then adds the ice cream Toni found God knows where. After he pours it into a glass and garnishes it with whipped cream, Carlton sets it down in front of the man.

“Here you are. That's five dollars.”

A blinding smile catches him slightly off guard and transforms the drunken visage in front of him into the face of a stunning, if not traditionally handsome, man. “DUDE, thanks so much, I've been looking all over town for this drink! Nobody seems to have heard of it.” He pouts. “And Gus even took away my shoes, because he said I was already drunk enough and that without shoes I couldn't go around drinking any more and had to go home, but I told him that 'drunk enough' is not something I can be.” He smiles again and leans closer to whisper conspiratorially: “But I got away! I just ran off when Gus wasn't looking. Who needs shoes anyway.” With an exaggerated nod he takes a big gulp of his cocktail.

Carlton catches himself thinking that the guy is kind of cute. Then he quickly shakes his head, this kind of thoughts never leads to anything good. Not in his life, anyway. He taps his guest on the shoulder and tells him: “That's interesting and all, but you still owe me five bucks.” The guy furrows his brow and begins rummaging in his pockets. A minute later he has managed to produce a phone, several bent business cards, a pocket knife, two wrapped candies, three quarters, a piece of string, and  the left  half  of a check over 2000$, but no wallet.

“Awwwww man! Gus took my wallet as well! Such a wet blanket. Just because he doesn't know how to have fun …”

Carlton picks up one of the business cards. Under a big green logo that says 'PSYCH', the card reads 'Shawn Spencer, lead detective'. At least now he has a name to that handsome face.

While Spencer loudly laments the injustice of the world and especially Gus, Carlton takes his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds one labelled  'Gus'. He taps it and listens to the phone dial.  It hasn't even rung twice when the guy picks up and starts yelling before Carlton can say anything.

“Shawn, I swear to God, where the _hell_ are you? And don't even think for a second that I'm going to haul your ass out of a holding cell again, just because Chief Vick hasn't caught on to your fake psychic act yet doesn't mean she won't stop giving us cases, do you understand?”

“Okay, I'm sorry.”, Carlton interrupts. “This is Carlton Lassiter, I'm the owner of the Crow's Nest. I assume you're a friend of Shawn Spencer's? He came in here about fifteen minutes ago, maybe you would like to collect him?”

A big sigh comes from the receiver, then the man on the other end tells him he'll be there in ten minutes. Carlton puts the phone down next to the now empty cocktail glass. Shawn's head lies on the bar, he's softly snoring. Lassiter huffs a little laugh, retrieves a paper bag from under the counter and shoves Shawn's knick-knacks in it.

The front door opens with another ring of the little bell. A black guy looks through the dimly lit room until he sees Shawn, slumped over on his barstool. Then he sighs, shakes his head and comes over. “Hi, I'm Guster. I guess you're Lassiter?”

Carlton wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Yeah. Thanks for coming so quickly. I was almost about to close for the night when your pal here came in.”

“Well, then I won't keep you.” Gus nudges Shawn in the shoulder. “Come on, man, get up. Let's go home.”

Shawn tries to defend himself for a bit, but in the end Gus manhandles him into the small blue car parked right outside after he grabs his friend's phone off the counter.

When they're gone, Carlton heaves a big sigh and locks up the bar. As he turns to trod upstairs to his apartment, he spots the little brown paper bag still sitting on the counter top. He decides to leave it for now.

 

The next evening is also quiet. When the door bell chimes, he looks up, and is instantly blinded by the same big, slightly goofy smile from the night before.

“So! You're Lassie!”

Carlton feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe something good  _can_ happen in his life after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You drive a massive SUV and steal my parking spot all the time and I was just heading out to leave a strongly worded note under your windshield wiper but oh no you're hot.”

It happens every day. Every. God-damned. Day. Is it too much to ask for a tiny small little spot for his bike? Just a teensy, tiny, little spot. Apparently it is. Because some jerk in a massive black SUV seems to think the whole parking lot exists solely for him. This is the 22nd time Shawn has come home to find his designated spot occupied by this monster of a vehicle.

He is not going to stand for this. He needs to make it clear to Mr. Jerk McFace that he can't park his car all willy-nilly just anywhere. This calls for convening over tacos or possibly cheese fries with Gus. Shawn gives up on trying to squeeze his bike somewhere next to the SUV and instead drives off in search of his best friend.

 

Carlton loves his car. It's a very good car, still nice and shiny and black. Also it's big. It's so big that whenever he parks it in front of his apartment building, his neighbour driving a bike gets all pissed off. It's honestly the best part of his day.

It also helps that the guy is kinda cute.

Carlton is well aware that technically his own spot is not right there, but really, how is he supposed to resist his neighbour's face.

 

“Enough is enough, Gus. I need to do something about this jackass.”, Shawn complains around a big mouthful of cheesy fries.

“You know, Shawn, you could just leave him a note. Usually works.” Gus seems more intrigued with his fries than with his friend's problem, and that is totally not okay. So obviously the only logical thing to do is chucking a salt shaker at him. It makes a really satisfying thud as it connects with the man's head. Shawn snickers and shoves another handful of fries in his mouth.

“Well, whatever you do, do it quickly. I don't really have time for this, and you know it.” Gus glares at him before slamming down a tenner and leaving.

 

Of course the monster of a van is still parked in his spot when Shawn comes home. He groans and squeezes his bike into the little space that's left before stomping up to his apartment.

He's not the best with words when he's furious (or ever really), but he scribbles down a strong note. This will do just fine.

He runs back downstairs and approaches the car.

But there is a guy standing next to it, bending down to pick something up out of the trunk.

He has a nice ass. Shawn shakes his head. _This is the jerk who steals my parking spot. He does_ not _have a nice ass._

Shawn ducks down and sneaks up to the car. He's going to secretly place the note under the windshield wiper and then bolt.

Except when he's half-way there, a shadow falls over him, and a gruff (but really nice) voice says: “What are you doing?”

He freezes and looks up, sheepishly staring at the guy above him. He has dark hair,  with a bit of grey at his temples. Also … “Shit, he's  _hot.”,_ Shawn whispers to himself.

“What was that?”, the man asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Nothing!” Shawn blushes a bit, stands up and dusts off his pants. Then he notices he's still holding the angry note and quickly crumples it in his hand.

“Whatcha got there?” The guy points at his fist.

“Oh, this? Hahaha … It's just some piece of paper I found on the ground here.” Shawn rubbed his neck and shrugged. “I was just picking it up when you started talking to me.”

Carlton wants to laugh. Just picking up a piece of paper, huh? He gives his neighbour an appraising once-over. Definitely still handsome.  And flustered now. His blush stretches to under his collar, and Carlton finds himself wanting to find out just how far down exactly the red colour creeps.

“Anyway”, Shawn clears his throat. “I definitely need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh? What would that be?”

He gestures to the markings on the ground. “This is  _my_ spot. Why is your car always here?”

But before Carlton can answer, Shawn steam-rolls over him: “More importantly, what's your stance on tacos, and eating them with me, let's say, twenty minutes from now?”

Carlton just grins and opens the passenger door.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and and you laughed at my taste and called me a nerd so I shoved you into a table of non-fiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky community bookstore”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so for this to work i had lassie break an arm and dislocate the other shoulder while chasing a suspect, so he has to ask shawn for help, since shawn is in fact shorter than lassie

Spencer actually has the nerve to snicker. That's it, Carlton is never going to ask for help ever again. Especially not from his lousy excuse of a boyfriend.

“Fine! I don't even really want that book, I just wanted to read the back.” He huffs, turns around and starts to walk towards the exit. Shawn puts a hand on his non-dislocated shoulder to stop him.

“It's okay, Lassiepoo, I didn't mean it. Which one was it?”

“It's the one with the red and black cover. And don't ever call me Lassiepoo. I have a real, actual name, Spencer.”

Shawn pouts. “So do I, you know. You could call me Shawn once in a while.” He reaches up to get to the high shelf, and his shirt rides up to reveal a delicious little stretch of skin. The sight is enough to mollify Carlton a little.

“Thanks.”, he grumbles and grabs the book out of Shawn's hands. It's about General John Mosby, and, from the description on the back, seems to be intriguing. “I think I'll get this. Should make a nice addition to my biography section.”, he nods to himself.

Shawn looks up from some ridiculous looking sci-fi novel he was studying with interest and squints at the title of Carlton's book. Then he laughs.

“Oh my God, my boyfriend is the biggest nerd on the West Coast. Hey, nerd, write me a list of those for present ideas, yeah?”

Carlton blushes with anger. He is very interested in history, yes, but that doesn't make him a nerd by a long shot. Spencer needs to watch his mouth.

_I am in love with him, but that doesn't mean I won't kick his ass._

He might have a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder, but he still manages to shove Shawn into a table piled with books on space. The whole stack tumbles to the floor with a satisfying amount of noise. Shawn sits on his butt in the middle of all the chaos, looking surprised. Carlton is very pleased with himself.

At least until the clerk from behind the counter hurries over. He looks at the mess with disdain, then focuses a piercing glare on the couple responsible. His voice is icy as he issues a ban from the bookshop for both of them, but only after he has Shawn stack the books back up on the table.

Carlton surprisingly manages to still buy his book before they're escorted out.

On the sidewalk they look at each other for a minute. Then Shawn starts laughing, sighs and says: “That's another shop I'm banned from.”

Catching Carlton's side eye, he grins: “That's okay. Plenty of stores left to get banned from.”

He pecks Carlton on the cheek, takes his hand, starts walking, and asks: “So, what do you think about Chinese for dinner?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm a barista and you're the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the drink order to something ridiculous because let's be real shawn will definitely order the most ridiculous drink possible  
> also i have exactly no idea what the orders even mean i've been to starbucks once and i ordered earl grey tea because I hate coffee i just googled 'ridiculous starbucks orders'  
> also also i don't know anything about corporations and business and sales i'm literally just repeating things i heard in tv shows and putting them together to form sentences that sound as if they could make sense please don't sue me

“Good morning, your order please?” Carlton wipes his hands on his apron and looks expectantly at the man in front of him.

Who is paying no attention to him, instead talking into his phone, using a really-not-indoors voice.

“No, Gus, what are you even talking about. The approximative calculations for the second quarter show a significant stagnation in sales. We need to cut out that product and get something new and exciting that the board and the crowd will eat up.”

“Sir.”, Carlton tries to interject. “Please, sir, you are not the only customer currently waiting in line, could you give me your order please?”

The man looks at him like he's some kind of bug, a cockroach maybe, crawling up the wall next to him. He holds a hand over the receiver of his phone and stage-whispers: “ Trenta iced coffee with extra extra extra caramel, 12 pumps of classic, and light soy.“

Carlton winces mentally. That drink is basically just sugar. But he forces himself to jot down the guy's name as well ( _Shawn_ ), and gets to work. While he is preparing the order, _Shawn_ doesn't stop talking loudly. Apparently he's some high-up clown in some big corporation making a lot of money without actually doing anything.

Since he's so annoying, Carlton thinks the guy deserves having his name creatively misspelled. So he scribbles  'Schaun' on the paper cup before calling out the order.

Shawn picks it up, still talking at a hundred miles per hour, and moves towards the exit. Carlton hears him laugh halfway out the door and grins to himself.

 

Shawn comes back the next morning. Again talking very loudly on his phone, this time to someone he keeps calling 'Chief Vick'. He doesn't even wait for Carlton to ask, instead telling him he'd like a “ Hot venti chai with 11 pumps of chai, 2 pumps vanilla, 185 degrees, no foam, syrups and cinnamon powder steamed in the pitcher with the milk. ” before turning away and sitting at a table near the windows. Carlton chuckles and gets to work.

This time he calls the guy 'Shooon'.

 

The creative misspelling of the guy's name evolves. The basics, like 'Shaun' or 'Sean', barely coax a grin out of him. The ones Carlton's most proud of are, incidentally, the ones making Shawn laugh. 

Like 'Sheawn'.

And 'Scheaouwn'.

Admittedly, that last one was a suggestion from his co-worker, but still.

 

Shaw n comes in for two weeks straight,  with increasingly ridiculous orders , but today is the first time he enters the shop without his phone glued to an ear. He takes his time sauntering up to the counter, he leisurely chooses a blueberry banana muffin from the display case, and he smiles at Carlton while he orders.

"Caramel Macchiato, Venti, Extra Shot, Extra-Hot, Extra-Whip," he tells him. His smile makes sparkles dance in his gorgeous hazel eyes.

Carlton can barely look away. He is about to select a paper cup, but Shawn calls to him and tells him to make it for here. After his order is done, he goes to sit down at what Carlton has secretly dubbed 'his table', the one he always sits at while he waits for his to-go order.

Picking apart his muffin, sipping his coffee and skimming over the newspaper he picked up from an empty table, Shawn looks at ease, relaxed.

Carlton can't stop looking at him.

This is embarrassing. He's not twelve, for God's sake, he doesn't do crushes. Especially not in this cliché 'barista crushes on customer, phone number on paper cup' kind of way. Which is exactly what he tells his co-worker Juliet when she tries to make him scribble his number on a paper bag with a freebie inside.

"O'Hara, I'm a grown adult, not a blushing teenager. This is not going to happen, at least not like this.”

"Come on, you'll never get anywhere if you don't even try!”, she insists.

After a while Carlton gives in. Juliet is relentless when she's set on something. So he writes his name and number on a piece of paper, slips it into a bag with a pastry and shuffles over to Shawn's table just as Shawn's about to get up and leave. Because he can't really think of anything to say he just shoves the bag into the poor guy's face, mutters “Drinks maybe some time you and me okay bye” and flees to the safety of the employee break room. Where he definitely, absolutely  _ not _ continues to have a nervous breakdown.  Out of which he decidedly is not shaken by his phone ringing. He answers without looking at the display – and almost starts hyperventilating when he recognises the voice.

“Lassiter?”

“Lassie, hi, this is Shawn! So, I was thinking, maybe tomorrow night at the Flap and Throttle, you and me, around nine?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shouting match over the last Thanksgiving turkey at the grocery store.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi i'm not from america and i have never even eaten any kind of thanksgiving meal so please excuse my lacking knowledge about this american tradition  
> also i'm pretty sure that you can't really get a whole turkey at a deli counter  
> also also I have generally next to no knowledge about america so you're welcome to point out any and all errors

Shawn is sulking. Obviously his dad has to send him into the grocery store two days before Thanksgiving to get the turkey. Shawn has been in five different stores so far. He'd been lucky to find half a chicken at the last one. There was absolutely no poultry left anywhere.  
He's determined to make this store the last one. If there is no turkey to be found here his dad will have to spend Thanksgiving alone and without a proper seasonal meal. Shawn doesn't care any more. Who waits to get the most important bit of a Thanksgiving dinner two days before it's supposed to be eaten, anyway? His dad, that's who.

It is just like his mom to invite him to her Thanksgiving dinner last-minute and then ask him to bring the turkey. Carlton refuses to pout though. He is a grown man. A grown police man, no less. A detective. It should be relatively easy for him to find one of those damn birds.  
Alas, the first two stores are completely devoid of anything even vaguely related to turkey. Carlton groans and pulls out his phone.  
“O'Hara. Where can I find a turkey.”  
She laughs, sighs, and directs him to what she thinks might be the only store in the reasonably distanced vicinity that could have one left.  
He goes in with the strict goal to only find out if they have a turkey and then buy that turkey. He doesn't expect to run into a short stumpy man with great hair. Who promptly falls on his butt from the impact.  
“Woah, dude. Watch it.”, the short man grunts.  
“My bad.”, Carlton concedes curtly and walks off.

Shawn's eyes follow him until he disappears around the corner of the cereal aisle. Then he shrugs and makes his way towards the deli counter.  
“Hey, I'm here to buy your last turkey, whatever it may look like!”, he trumpets once in earshot.  
The clerk behind the counter is someone he went to school with, incidentally. He smiles at Shawn before turning around and shouting: “Kerry, bag that last turkey, will you?”  
He turns back to Shawn. “So you waited until now to buy your bird?”  
Shawn shakes his head. “My dad did. He got this idea in his head that we should celebrate Thanksgiving together again.” He grins. “He can't have forgotten what happened last time we tried that, though.”  
“Oh? What did happen last time?”, the clerk asks, handing a bag to Shawn.  
But before he can get an answer a tall man comes barrelling towards them, shouting “That is my turkey!”

Carlton can see the bag, suspended in mid-air where the two men's hands meet. And oh, would you look at that, it's the guy he ran over just now.  
Everyone around them is now looking at him, including the two baffled men at the deli counter.  
He skids to a stop right in front of the counter. “That turkey. Give it to me.”

Shawn can't believe his ears. “Ex _cuse_ me?” He directs his best sarcastic eyebrows at the man. To crown it all, it's the same guy who collided with him earlier. His butt still hurts, thank you very much! “I'm sorry to break it to you, pal, but I practically already bought this fine specimen. So you can kindly leave.”  
The guy honest to God growls. “I'm not your pal, and you can shut your mouth because you haven't bought anything, and you will not buy anything either, because this bird is now mine.” He makes a move to snatch the bag, but Shawn is faster. He rips it out of the poor clerks hand, tucks it under his arm like a football, and _runs_

Carlton gapes. “That little ...” Of course, the only logical thing is to take off after and try to tackle his rival. Because that's what they are from now on, rivals. Or maybe arch-enemies. He isn't sure on that yet. For now, he focuses on launching himself over the row of freezers separating them, and hitting his target. 

Shawn sees him coming, sailing over the ice cream freezers like an angry parakeet, arms and legs spread and a manic glow in his eyes. Clutching the turkey tighter, Shawn ducks and sprints down the aisle, skidding around the corner as he hears a crash from behind.

That god damn _monkey_. Carlton didn't think he could be this fast. That's why he misses him entirely, instead crashing into a shelf full of cereal boxes. He curses, stands up and continues his chase, completely ignoring the mess he made and the two clerks yelling and running after him.

Shawn hears the yelling. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the guy – gaining ground fast. “Crap”, he mutters and speeds up. Just a few feet ahead the cash register looms, and after that: freedom. He slides past a giant stack of pumpkins by a hair's breadth, causing the whole pyramid to tumble down into the aisle. “Only a bit more …”, Shawn huffs, trying to get a better grip on the slowly slipping turkey.

Now there's five yelling clerks on his tail. Carlton feels an inhuman rage toward the man a couple feet in front of him, who is almost out of the door already. Now or never, Carlton tells himself, and jumps again. This time he takes the other man down, and he shouts in triumph as he does so.

A competitive wrestling match ensues. Also chaos. A lot of it. Because other shoppers are curious enough to linger nearby, there's still five yelling store employees standing around them, and the turkey, that slippery bastard, is in the middle of it all. Until the towering figure of the store's security guard appears above the pile of limbs flailing on the ground.  
“Gentlemen.” Shawn freezes and looks up. Then he tries a charming smile while grabbing blindly for the turkey. “Yes?”  
“If you would accompany me to my office, please.”  
Carlton sighs. “This is all a waste of time.” He pulls out his badge and waves it menacingly in front of the guard. “See this? I'm a cop, and I will not accompany you anywhere, I will buy this turkey and be on my way.”  
“Sir, you knocked over a shelf and a pile of produce, you caused a severe disturbance for the other customers, and it is my duty to report this to a superior or the nearest relative.”  
Shawn groans. “Oh man, my dad's gonna be so pissed.”  
Carlton, however, grows white at the thought of having to call Chief Vick about this.

In the guards office, all three men sit down, the turkey on the desk, and the guard calls Shawn's father. Henry just sighs long and deeply, and asks to speak to his son.  
“Hey dad!”, Shawn says cheerily. “The good news is: I got a turkey. The bad news is: It's almost thawed.”  
“Shawn, I just asked you to buy a turkey. Why do you ruin Thanksgiving on purpose, _again_? For God's sake, Shawn, grow up already!”, Henry shouts, before hanging up on his son. Shawn hands the phone back with a shrug and a half-smile. “He'll come get me in half an hour.”  
The guard nods and turns to Carlton. “Sir, since you're with the SBPD, I'll call them.”  
“No!”, Carlton shouts. “I … I mean. No, please, could you call my mother instead?” The guard shoots him a weird look, but he can't find it in him to care.  
Althea doesn't even seem too bothered. All she asks is “Did you apologize, Carlton?”, albeit a bit sternly.  
“What? No, I didn't do anything wrong! I just-”  
“You just chased me through the whole store, trying to steal my turkey, and knocked over two shelves while doing so!”, Shawn pipes up.  
“Carlton.” Althea's frown is audible through the phone. Her son sighs, turns to Shawn and grits out “I'm sorry. Okay?”, before telling his mother “I did it, happy now? We still won't have a turkey.”  
“That's not that bad, Carlton, it's just us, your mom and your sister anyway.”

Shawn perks up. “Just you four then?”  
Carlton nods briefly, still more than a little angry.  
“It's just me and my dad at home, why don't you come over?” His offer is met with elevated eyebrows. “That way, we'd all have turkey.” Shawn grins. “Seems a shame to have Thanksgiving without a turkey.”  
Before Carlton can answer, Althea shouts down the phone. “Why, young man, we could never impose on you like that, although it is very generous of you to offer.”  
Shawn steals the phone out of Carlton's hand and starts chatting amiably with the older lady.

When Henry arrives twenty minutes later, his son informs him about their last-minute guests, and Henry can for the love of everything holy not find it in himself to be angry about it. The look on Shawn's face, like he's genuinely excited about Thanksgiving dinner, is one he hasn't seen in years, maybe decades. So he pays for the turkey and drives his son home, after telling the other man ( _Lassiter_ , he'd been told gruffly) where his family would be expected.  
It turns out to be a thoroughly enjoyable Thanksgiving that year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my long absence guys i was on vacation and before that there was all this uni stuff stressing me out


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A has woken up in the morning and Person B is sleeping next to them. Person A thinks about how wonderful it is to be next to Person B. Then Person B rolls over in their sleep and their arm smacks Person A in the face.

It's one of his rare days off, so Carlton is allowed to sleep in. He's warm and comfortable and _relaxed_ when he wakes up. It's the best sleep he's gotten this week. The last case was a rough one. Carlton sighs, stretches and turns on his side before opening his eyes. He is greeted by the sight of Shawn's profile, illuminated by the soft light filtering through their bedroom curtains. He looks loose, sound asleep with his mouth slightly open and limbs splayed all over the place. Carlton finds himself smiling fondly. This man next to him, this childish, lazy, chaotic, intelligent, _beautiful_ man next to him, is the best thing that could have ever happened to him. They've been together for about one year and a half now, and he can't imagine his life without Shawn anymore.

A life without his dirty laundry lying around everywhere.

A life without his sweet-tooth leading him to leave candy wrappers _everywhere_.

A life without his ridiculous obsession with that weird cartoon, what was it called again? Seriousness Jumps? Levity Flies? Oh, right. Gravity Falls. He can't count the evenings he's come home to find Shawn on the edge of the couch, shouting obscenities and insults directed at someone called Alex towards the TV.

A life without his _fucking cat_. To be honest, Carlton can very well imagine a life without that hell beast. And if he has to deal with one more incident of the pineapple-and-banana variety, he will definitely move out. He's still trying to get those images out of his head.

But all in all, life without Shawn isn't an option for him anymore.

Carlton reaches out to swipe a few stray strands of hair out of his boyfriend's face. Shawn sighs contently and burrows deeper into his blanket cocoon. Carlton chuckles softly and gets up, careful not to wake him. He pads down the corridor to the kitchen, where he starts cutting up fruit and makes coffee for breakfast. When he checks on Shawn, it doesn't seem like he'll be waking up soon. So Carlton shrugs to himself and gets back into bed.

He wakes up for the second time two hours later, all snuggled up to Shawn. He scoots back a bit and admires the view again, thinking how lucky he is to be able to wake up next to this guy two times the same day.

Shawn snorts in his sleep, turns on his side, and smacks him hard in the face with his arm.

Carlton is ready to rethink this relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet, just right for the end of this kinda-series :)  
> i didn't really find any more asshole otp prompts, but tbh i haven't really looked for them  
> if i do find more, i'll add to this, but for now i'm done  
> thanks for the kudos, i hope you enjoy this last chapter too  
> also i have a longer shassie fic in the works rn, so look forward to that


	8. Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afternoon Fun Times™ with Shawn and Lassie
> 
>  
> 
> Imagine your OTP  
> Person B: "Did you eat all the sugar powdered donuts?"  
> Person A: *mouth full of food*"No..."  
> Person B: "Then what's that on your pants?"  
> Person A: "That's cocaine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im BACK  
> sort of  
> (edited and improved chapter repost)

They'd been here. Right here, on a big plate, right on the counter. A big pile of delicious sugar powdered donuts. Carlton knows it, hell, he's _sure_ of it. He'd been the one to put them there after all.

He'd just gone out real quick to buy more milk, and now he's back. And they're gone.

This is highly suspicious.

Carlton's not above suspecting Shawn's _fucking cat_. So of course he starts his investigation in their  bedroom, because if that beast likes to hide dead mice under their bed who's to say it won't take sneakily stolen donuts down there too. He sneaks up to the wooden frame, then drops on his front to peer under it.

The cat is definitely there.  I t runs off with a bushy tail,  scared by its owner's boyfriend's sudden appearance . But no sign of his donuts. The only things Carlton can see from where he's lying down are three different socks,  an old newspaper clipping and some candy wrappers.

He gets up again. The only other possibility is …. but no. It can't be. He'd know better than to take Carlton's donuts.

But would he? Carlton shakes his head. Shawn isn't exactly known for his rationality. He makes his way towards the living room, where the TV had been blaring one of those ridiculous cartoons for quite some time now.

“Shawn!”, he shouts. The TV noise cuts out, and hasty shuffling sounds reach the hallway. Then Shawn answers, “Yeees?”

Suspiciously, it sounds a lot like he's hurriedly trying to clear a full mouth. Possibly crammed full of donuts?  Carlton changes to a brisk walk and enters the living room.

Shawn is sitting on the couch, turned towards Carlton's looming figure in the doorway. The TV behind him is muted, and he's looking up at his boyfriend's stern face with an innocent expression that could have fooled Carlton if he hadn't known Shawn for quite some time. And if there hadn't been traces of white around his mouth. As it is, there are. Also, Shawn's cheeks are puffing out.

“Shawn. Did you eat all the sugar powdered donuts, the ones I bought for dessert and put on the plate on the kitchen counter?”

“… No?” Little crumbs fall from the corner of Shawn's mouth. Carlton walks around the couch to stand in front of him. Pointing at the powdered sugar covering a lot of his pants, Carlton asks, “So what's that then?”

Shawn swallows, looks down at his crotch, then up again. Staring his boyfriend straight in the eyes he answers, “That's cocaine.” Without a single moment of hesitation.

“… right.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Carlton's eyes start to glimmer. He just got a great idea to while away some time. Better than those three cartoon bears anyway.

“Let me just verify that real quick,” he says, and drops to his knees. Shawn's eyes go wide, but he doesn't protest. Carlton scoots closer, looks Shawn right in the face, and licks at the powdered sugar on his boyfriend's jeans. Shawn squirms. Carlton smirks.

What a fun afternoon it's going to be.


End file.
